


Breaking Point

by J_E_McCormick, TiltingPlanet



Series: Say Nothing Of It [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, R is about 17 making Bahorel 18, These guys are bros, hey look you even get a bit of Isabel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_E_McCormick/pseuds/J_E_McCormick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiltingPlanet/pseuds/TiltingPlanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late when Grantaire staggers onto Bahorel's doorstep. He's crying, practically sobbing, because damn if it doesn't hurt to have a shirt on over the new wounds on his back, which sting sharply with every movement he makes. He's surprised he made it out of the house, let alone all the way to Bahorel's house, but he knows it's all down to the knowledge that he can't do this anymore and so he's either going to run away or off himself or something that involves getting anywhere but being stuck with his father, and his first action before that has to be to see Bahorel. The other teen is practically his brother at this point, he relies on him; Bahorel's the one who looks out for him when he most certainly isn't doing it himself and there isn't anyone else. Bahorel will help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, right, I've had a little criticism on Grantaire's scarring, how it's hard for belts to create wounds.  
> The scars on his face are accidental - that is, they weren't meant to mark his face. The ones on his back are purposeful; his father deliberately hit him until he broke the skin. Grantaire scars easily, which is why they're there. I want to go into more detail with it but I'll have to talk to Tilt.
> 
> Have you guys met Isabel yet? Well, she's Bahorel's little sister, I reckon about 10 years younger. Grantaire calls her Belle (as in 'beautiful') because he's a sweetiepie like that.  
> Bahorel basically thinks of Grantaire as his little brother, even though he's only a year older. I love their relationship in this AU so much I can't even describe.
> 
> Yup. Okay now I'm done. You may read on now.

It's late when Grantaire staggers onto Bahorel's doorstep. He's crying, practically sobbing, because damn if it doesn't hurt to have a shirt on over the new wounds on his back, which sting sharply with every movement he makes. He's surprised he made it out of the house, let alone all the way to Bahorel's house, but he knows it's all down to the knowledge that he can't do this anymore and so he's either going to run away or off himself or _something_ that involves getting anywhere but being stuck with his father, and his first action before that has to be to see Bahorel. The other teen is practically his brother at this point, he relies on him; Bahorel's the one who looks out for him when he most certainly isn't doing it himself and there isn't anyone else. Bahorel will help him.

He bangs frantically on the door, barely sparing a thought for M. and Mme. Bahorel and Isabel, who are undoubtedly going to be roused as well.

Bahorel is up writing a paper. The house is quiet, his parents in their room watching a film, and Isabel sleeping on Bahorel's bed after a nightmare. He never minds when his sister begs to sleep in his room when she can't sleep, and her presence is welcome as he types. It's only because of the quiet of the house that he hears the banging at all. Isabel stirs, and Bahorel shushes her as he pads downstairs. He's rubbing his eyes from the light transition, and throws the door open almost sluggishly. He jolts into full focus at seeing his friend there on the doorstep. "Grantaire? What's wrong?"

"I-" Grantaire manages before falling forward into Bahorel's chest, grasping desperately at his shirt as if Bahorel is the only thing keeping him on his feet, and at this point he probably is. He's barely coherent through pain and tears but he manages to sob something along the lines of "I can't take it anymore, please help me." Blood is starting to seep through the back of the shirt he's wearing from the two or three open gashes, the largest of which crosses his whole back and curls up onto his right shoulder, he's fairly sure he'll have a black eye come morning, and there's innumerable bruises and scrapes all over his body.

Bahorel grunts softly in surprise, lifting an arm to hold Grantaire steady. "Hey, shh, it'll be okay, R." He isn't sure as to what he's trying to be reassuring about.  Bahorel's eyes widen when he finds the hand resting on his friend's shoulder damp and sticky. "R, is this-" He cuts off when steps come to stand on the landing of the staircase.

"Michel, who's there?" He blinks at his mother's voice.

"It's R, mere. I've got it." he hears her retreat before turning back to his friend. "What the hell happened?" Bahorel has a feeling- he isn't stupid, despite R's usual silence on this matter. But if this was Grantaire's asshole father, Bahorel was going to punch the man's nose in.

"I don't know, I don't know." Grantaire manages, his voice stuttering and breaking. "He got mad, I don't know what I did."

He knows he must have done something, but hell if he ever knows what it is. He's learnt to skirt his father for the most part, and hardly ever returns to the house except to sleep, but there'll still be times when the man lashes out. It's been a long while since he last used the belt though, and Grantaire is still shaking from the shot of pure terror that coursed through his veins when he saw it lash out towards him.

"Breathe, R. Relax, he's not here." Bahorel soothes and hugs his friend. He feels more blood and thinks that he'll have to treat R's injuries. "Come on, Nicholas, I need to bandage you up." Bahorel's voice is low and soothing and even. The med kit in the bathroom is always stocked thanks to his own fighting habit, and painkillers were probably in there as well. Grantaire would probably need to borrow some clean clothes, but that was hardly a new thing.

Grantaire flinches violently when Bahorel's arms wrap around him, disturbing the wounds on his back, but he holds onto him tightly anyway and gasps in air like a stranded fish. Bahorel is a rock and somehow his mere presence starts to soothe his frayed nerves, and even though he's shaking and his knees are weak and he still wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry until he physically can't anymore, he manages to follow Bahorel past the doorway and into the bathroom. He carefully sheds the shirt, wincing as he pulls it away from where it sticks to his back with blood.

Bahorel remains quiet as he goes about getting what he needs, leaving only for a moment to get some of his own clean clothes from the dryer and a towel. "Hold still." Bahorel says on return and goes about cleaning p the excess blood. He’s as gentle as he can manage- surprisingly well for a heavy-handed boxer. He moves on to the antiseptic and ointment. "Least you don't need stitches." he mutters, unaffected as he pours rubbing alcohol followed by swipes of Neosporin. He waits a few minutes after that before getting the gauze and bandages and taping Grantaire up as best he can. It’s crude, but workable, done with Bahorel's knowledge from treating himself. He hands Grantaire the clean shirt before stepping back.

Grantaire tries not to flinch too badly as Bahorel patches him up. He's been doing it for far too long, because Grantaire can't go to the hospital, and Bahorel gets in enough fights to know what he's doing. He gingerly slips into the shirt, which is a bit big because Bahorel is just that bit larger than him, and sighs, exhausted.

"I can't do this anymore Bahorel." he murmurs, staring at the floor. One hand rakes through his curls roughly. "I really can't, because if he doesn't kill me I might."

Bahorel already has a pretty good plan in mind; as soon as Grantaire is taken care of, Bahorel is going to kick Grantaire's father's ass. Bahorel has been watching his friend deal with all of this since they were ten, the bastard has it coming.

"So stay here, R. It's not like you don't already live here most of the time." Bahorel dries his hands before motioning for Grantaire. "Up, come on. You can either talk with my parents now or do it in the morning." He doesn't elaborate. As soon as they saw how bad Grantaire was, Bahorel’s mother would insist he stay with them indefinitely, and his father would call in the legal team. Not to mention his mother would make all sorts of food, most likely R's favourites.

Grantaire looks up at him with grateful eyes, though he falters at the mention of telling Bahorel's parents. Bahorel may have figured out - after all, he's been treating Grantaire's wounds and bruises for years now - but he's not sure how much M or Mme Bahorel know, because he's never told them, and he brushes off queries with the excuse of a fight, because with a son like Bahorel they're used to seeing a bashed-up teenager walk through the door after fistfights. He's not sure if he can explain without breaking down again, and besides he's never had to tell anyone before, and somewhere back in his mind tells him that he shouldn't be a burden on these amazing and kind people who are loving and supportive even when he doesn't deserve it.

Bahorel sighs and silently decides to leave Grantaire to sleep. "You can take my bed; I can't be bothered to change the sheets on a guest bed." He says after a little deliberation. He grabs extra blankets and pillows from a closet and dumps them on his bedroom floor, by his closet. "And you _are_ taking the bed." He states firmly, creeping to the bed and gently picking Isabel up from where she's sleeping curled up in his blankets. "Back to your bed, flea." He says quietly when she blinks blearily at him, handing her back her stuffed animal. She looks about ready to go back to sleep and let Bahorel take her to bed when she notices Grantaire. She stares at him a moment before silently holding out her plush toy in offering to him.

Grantaire looks momentarily bewildered, like he isn't quite sure what to do with the offering, before smiling and bending slightly to be closer to eye-level with the girl.

"Thanks, Belle." he murmurs, gently taking the toy and stroking the girl's hair back from her face, ruffling it gently. "Sleep well."

As Bahorel leaves the room, he debates stealing the blanket nest that he's obviously planning to use himself, but decides against it and curls up on the bed, where the blankets are still slightly warm from Isabel sleeping there. He smiles slightly at the soft toy in his hand and hugs it tightly to his chest.

 Bahorel carries his sister down the hall to her own room and tucks her in, handing her a different stuffed toy. "Night, flea." He ruffles her hair, checks that her night-light is on, and closes the door.

"Get some sleep, R. You'll feel better in the morning." Bahorel grabs up his jacket from his desk chair and toes on his sneakers. "I'll be back." He strides from the room and down the stairs and out the front door. He can't drive, but he has his wallet, and thus hails a taxi. He rattles off Grantaire's address. Even if Grantaire's father isn't there (he better be, Bahorel is going to mess him up) he can get some of Grantaire's things.

Grantaire peers up, watching him leave. He frowns as Bahorel grabs his jacket and sneakers. He listens and hears the front door open and close, and waits a few minutes, but doesn't hear him return. He shifts restlessly, and eventually pulls out his phone to text him.

**'bahorel, where've u gone?'**

Bahorel blinks when his phone goes off.

**'go 2 bed R'**

He sends the text as the taxi pulls to the curb.

Grantaire sits up now, worried.

**'where r u?'**

He doesn't get a response for a long while - or at least, it seems that way to him - and tries not to panic because Bahorel won't tell him and therefore doesn't want him knowing, and Grantaire gets this creeping, dreading feeling that he may have a hunch where Bahorel has gone.

 **'come bk bahorel'** He sends, then just a moment after, **'please'**

Bahorel pays the driver and slides out, marching up to the door and banging on it loudly. When M Grantaire opens the door, he shoots a fierce glare at Bahorel.

"Who the fuck are you, kid?" he growls, his words slurring slightly.

Bahorel glares and squares his shoulders, placing a foot next to the doorframe to keep it the door from being closed. "The only thing you need to know is that I'm kicking your ass for what you've been doing to R."

The man squints at him in confusion. "R?" He shakes his head, still scowling, and tries to push Bahorel out of the way. "Whatever, I don't have time for your shit. Get out of here."

Bahorel makes a noise of irritation and roughly grabs M Grantaire by the shirt collar. The boxer is, privately, pleased to note he is both taller and stronger. "Look, you drunk piece of shit, I am saying this only once. You hurt your son again and you're getting a lot worse than this." With the hand not fisted in the man's collar in a stranglehold, Bahorel punches the man in the ribs.

M Grantaire grunts in pain at the blow, and is for a moment winded, but as soon as he regains himself he's snarling fiercely and he swings up to take a shot at Bahorel's face, and his knuckles connect with Bahorel's temple.

"The fuck do you care about that piece of shit?" he spits. "Lemme go. Get the fuck outta my house."

Bahorel grunts in pain and staggers a bit before throwing a left-handed punch for M Grantaire's face. Soon as he feels his fist connect, he kicks out a foot to sweep the man's feet out from under him. "He's been my best friend for seven years and I'm sick of seeing him hurt."

M Grantaire falls heavily back, and doesn't move to stand again, pressing one hand against the spot Bahorel's fist had connected with his face and laboriously pushing himself upright. He aims an empty bottle at the teen before simply glaring at him. "Get out." he growls again.

Meanwhile, Grantaire is getting more and more frantic as his texts go unanswered.

**'plz dont tell me uve gone where i think uve gone'**

**'bahorel'**

**'bahorel answer me'**

**'get back here'**

**'plz bahorel at least reply'**

Bahorel ignores the man, instead walking further into the house in hopes of finding Grantaire's room. He fishes out his cell phone on the way, frowns briefly at all the texts, before calling the police and explaining the situation. They're there within ten minutes, and Bahorel gives them the bare minimum of answers as he packs some of Grantaire's things into a duffel bag.

Grantaire keeps standing up, pacing around the room, starting towards the door with the intent of going to find Bahorel before he panics at the thought and paces back, dropping onto the bed and curling into a corner until he becomes restless and starts the whole cycle again. He keeps checking his phone, though there still hasn't been a reply, hoping that one time he'll light up the screen and a new message will flash up.

Bahorel isn't back for another hour. He's sleepy but satisfied, and thus trudges up the stairs to his room. He pauses a moment to peer in at Isabel, but she's asleep in her bed. So, no more nightmares from her. He continues into his room, and blinks slowly when he sees Grantaire. "I told you to go to sleep, R.”

Grantaire shakes his head. "I can't sleep, not easily, you know this, and especially not if you're going to scare me like that, _Christ_ Bahorel." He looks torn between terrified and enraged. "I'm at least 99% sure I know where you went and _fucking hell_ why the hell would you do that?"

Bahorel gives Grantaire a dead-pan look and shakes his head. "Here." He drops the duffel by the door and kicks his shoes off. "Your father's an ass and deserves what's coming to him." He throws off his coat, rearranges the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor, and collapses on to them with a grunt.

"You could have gotten hurt." Grantaire huffs. Bahorel’s only response is noise of disinterest.

Grantaire seems to settle down, but after a while he stands, bringing the duvet off the bed with him, and shuffles over to the nest Bahorel has made for himself, tucking himself against Bahorel's back and curling up there.  Bahorel is nearly asleep when he feels Grantaire against his back, and takes a moment to reach around and ruffle Grantaire’s hair. “You’ll be alright, kid.”

“If you say so.” Grantaire murmurs, pushing his face against Bahorel’s back and closing his eyes. He’s not entirely sure when he falls asleep, but he wakes the next morning peacefully, still curled beside Bahorel, Isabel’s soft toy still clutched to his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Grantaire and his father written by me, Bahorel and his family by Tilt.


End file.
